


Hastur's Love Story

by Zeckarin



Series: And they were roomates... (but there were two beds) [6]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aromantic Aziraphale (Good Omens), Aromantic Crowley (Good Omens), Asexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), Asexual Crowley (Good Omens), BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Hastur-centric (Good Omens), Humor, Light Angst, Minor Violence, Obsessive Behavior, Queerplatonic Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2021-01-21 05:30:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21294338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zeckarin/pseuds/Zeckarin
Summary: Our favourite Duke of Hell encounters an angel he can't forget.He decides to conquer the objet of his affections... in Hell's best style.Hastur's little obsession is born in my WhumpTober story, and I really wanted to develop his story, so here it is !I provided the links to Aziraphale and Crowley's POV in the end notes if you want to know their side of the story^^ (Thanks to my friend megzseattle who came with the idea ! I was really lost there ^^).Hope you'll enjoy the adorable, romantic, sane and heartwarming love taking place here.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale & Hastur (Good Omens), Hastur & Adam Young (Good Omens)
Series: And they were roomates... (but there were two beds) [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1523585
Comments: 117
Kudos: 125





	1. Birth of a feeling

**Author's Note:**

> first three or four chapters will follow the Whumptober events.  
Then I'll add some new adventures for our dear boys and their stalker.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've reread it and it's short... but second chapter is coming and Hastur's story will take much more room in it !  
I wanted to end this one with the beginning of Hastur's crush.
> 
> For the reader not having read WhumpTober, the links to Aziraphale and Crowley's POV on Hastur's love story are in the end notes^^

Hastur hated earth. He didn’t like the smell (way too much fresher than Hell), he didn’t like the sun (all shiny and bright), he didn’t like humans (except as diner) and more than anything, he hated to know Crawly was living there, happy as a clam, after ruining it all for everyone.

But Beelzebub had entrusted him with the Collecting, and he couldn’t say no to such a responsibility.

So here he was, on earth, in what humans called a shopping centre, looking for good buckets to steal. Plastic ones wouldn’t do, it tended to melt.

And humans were obsessed with plastic, nowadays. Finally, after an incredible amount of stores (why did the humans need so many clothes ?) he found them.

On a corner, almost out of view. Buckets.

A demonic miracle erased his presence and he took six of the largest ones. Perfect. It was a great catch for a first try. Cackling hysterically, he summoned the dark powers to make his way Down.

Something touched his back, and something else touched his temple. He didn’t even have the time to turn that pain exploded all over him. His corporation and his essence both twisted in agony. It was deliciously unbearable. He sensed the body he inhabited starting to shred into sparkles…

He tried to turn, to attack, but it was too late. He tasted the faint smell of cinnamon and paper, of first rain in a desert and burning firewood. The corporation exploded, the buckets landed on the ground in a cacophony.

Aziraphale didn’t lose time watching the firework, he was already scanning anxiously around him, vaguely shaking his hands to erase the occult smudges that had just splashed over them.

A tuft of ginger hair caught his eyes, and he sighed loudly in relief before catching up to the owner of the fiery mane and landing a hand on a familiar shoulder.

“_There_ you are, dear boy.”

**In Hell...**

Hastur appeared at the Gate and stumbled a little.

“_Crawly_ ! You fiend, I’m going to come back and you’ll regret this, you pathetic excuse for a demon !’ He erupted.

“Hm… Duke Hastur ?” asked the young demon in charge of arrivals. “Are you… where is your corporation, Sir ?”

“He discorporated me ! That flashy little bastard ! It was him, I’m sure of it ! Sneaking and attacking me from behind ! You ! Give me another one ! I have to go back and kill him !”

“Sir, may I remind you no demon is allowed to meddle with demon Crowley... besides there are no corporations available at the moment. They are all in repair. A default had been made with the skin. Apparently the demon in charge of it tried to be creative and...”

The young demonic clerk exploded mid sentence and Hastur yelled in frustration for ten minutes, clawing at his face, the walls, and everything he could put his hands on. Crawly would PAY for this !

Every demon in the area gave Appearing Gate Room a wide berth and found something very important to do elsewhere. Survival instinct is very strong in demonic entities.

* * *

** 2 months later : **

He was back, and under strict orders _not_ to search for Crawly. He had to bring back buckets, as soon as possible. The leaks had become so important now that Lucifer himself had started asking questions. When the King of Hell asked questions, Bad Things happened.

He’d been spotted by Crawly and his angelic _friend_. Really it was a pity he had to escape them, but Beelzebub was very cross… he would have to go back later. Business to finish with _Crawly_. He didn’t like unfinished business, and he had spent hours imagining the ending of that particular one. The demon in sunglasses was off limits, everyone in Hell knew that. But he knew how to destroy him without even touching him. That little angel there was such a sweet target. And Hell would never punish him for destroying an enemy. Breaking, ripping, burning and delighting in cries of pain before ending it all, and watching the Light fade away in angelic eyes forever. Discorporating was not fun. He aimed to destroy permanently. Always a treat to know you were erasing from creation something that was meant to _never end._

After having escaped the two rogue entities by climbing a wall, entering a window (shame he didn’t have time to torture the man chained to the bed, really) and run in a corridor, he appeared in the shopping centre where he already knew where to find buckets.

The first batch was quickly brought back to Hell without trouble. There were top quality, and he knew Beelzebub was satisfied with that. At least as a beginning. He decided to make at least two more trips for that day.

He gritted his teeth and grabbed the handles of two of the largest pails in each hand before stalking away. Best to make his way back somewhere else. He’d been reckless last time.

“Thief ! Thief ! He stole them ! I saw him ! Somebody call the security !”

A woman was shrieking at the terrace of a restaurant, pointing at him. Bloody humans and their bloody meddling. Two more humans were rising from their sits, eyeing him. Gauging him. They were only about to interfere since they thought him week and harmless. Hastur smiled. Well, let them come.

He let go of the buckets and let the familiar, soothing rush of violence overflow him before growing his corporation’s fingernails into sharp claws, and _grinned_. Time for some blood to flow out !

With a hysterical laughter, he launched himself at the humans. The shrieking woman would be the first to go…

A sudden, sharp wind, the oddly familiar_ beating _sound… and suddenly an angel appeared ahead of him, wings extended in a protective stance right in front of the humans he was aiming at. Hastur recognised Crawly’s buddy.

It was not an impressive angel. He was rather short, quite pudgy, and not at all scary. Except for the eyes. The eyes were unsettling. There was steel and wrath in them.

An angel wanting to fight. Wings out. Just in front of him. He hadn’t killed one of these little righteous freaks in millennium and already intended to play with that one in the future. How could he resist ? Hastur didn’t even slow his attack. He just changed his target priorities in a blink.

He crashed into his opponent, surprised to feel him resist. He’d intended to knock him down, but that angel seemed rooted on the spot. Whatever. He slashed his claws, feeling soft feathers break under his hand, ripping at it, laughing again at the warm sensation of golden blood running through his fingers. Satan, he’d missed THAT feeling ! He would rip these spotless, pristine wings… he would hear each of their delicate bones _snap_...

The angel let out a groan of pain, but didn’t try to pull out. His hand reached somewhere behind him and shot out at a frightful speed…

Hastur looked down, starring incredulously at the metallic spike pointing out of his stomach. The angel’s hand was still on it and didn’t let go. With rising indignation, he looked back at the offending face in front of him. His stare met an unsettling smirk, and ice cold eyes that were not looking at him but _behind him…_

The Duke of Hell tried to turn, but the metallic chopstick was restraining him quite effectively, and the angel didn’t let go of it even when Hastur sank his claws deeper into the delicate flesh of the white wing to make him pull off.

Hastur discorporated in a dramatic fashion.

**In Hell (again)...**

A loud yell erupted in the deepest bit of Hell, and a very confused and angry Duke reaparated.

The young demon in charge of Entries gaped.

“Duke Hastur ! Again ?”

Fortunately, Hastur was too angry to listen to him and didn’t destroy him on the spot.

"Crawly ! It was him, I know it ! He discorporated me !

He looked at his hand, covered in golden blood.

“That… that angel. He attacked me ! He stared at me, he stabbed me in the _gut_ !

He looked at his hand again. The angel had stared at him right in the eyes and extended his wings. That was practically begging for death ! And for what ? A handful of ridiculous humans ?

He smelled his hand. Blinked. Smelled it again. Paper. Cinnamon. Rain. Smoke.

He _ knew _ this smell.

“It’s the bastard that discorporated me from behind the other time !” He yelled.

“Who, Sir ? The demon Crawly ?” Asked the younger demon cautiously.

“No ! The ANGEL !”

“But… angel always attack front on.”

“Yeah they do, the stupid pricks. But HE attacked me from behind, and he got me at first attempt ! Know what that means ? He aims to _kill_!”

“Well… that seems… strange. For an angel, of course.”

“It’s not strange » said Hastur in a slow voice « It’s brilliant. This angel is a bastard. He wasn’t even afraid of me, and he took the first thing that came into his hand and _stabbed _me with it while I was ripping his _wing _!” Hastur's tone was laced with awe.

The lesser demon gaped.

“Are you sure it was an angel, Sir ?”

He didn’t answer. There had been no _ fear _ in his eyes. He was a Duke of Hell. Much more powerful. And this angel wasn't afraid at all. And that was… interesting. This angel was scary. He felt a shiver of pleasure running along his spine.

“Sir ?”

“Give me another corporation !”

“Sir, you have to fill the form...”

With a cry, the young demon dissolved in flames.

“I want a corporation _NOW_” Yelled Hastur.

He needed to see his angel again.

It took him a lot of paperwork and long hours in a cemetery picking up the perfect gift, but he'd read somewhere in one of Crawly's awfully boring report that humans loved flowers. His angel deserved the best of them. The pretiest, sharpest, stingiest ones.

His bouquet was _perfection_. He deposited it on the bookshop's front door and erased his presence, hiding in an alley accross the street.

He saw the angel open the door. He was pale and looked tired, of course, after such a dreadful injury. Hastur smiled fondly. This little frown of pain on the angel's brow was _his_ doing. It was adorable.

Aziraphale picked up the bouquet and _smiled._ He'd liked it !

The Duke of Hell stared at the closed door for long hours, planning his next move. He needed more. He needed to get closer.

He really hoped the angel would think of him every time his wing ached.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To have Aziraphale and Crowley's impressions on all this, here are the links :
> 
> CHAPTER 1 : Shaky Hands, where Crowley sees Hastur in the shopping Centre and thinks he is here to kill him. This is Crowley’s POV on this adventure and it explains what happened exactly to poor Hastur.)  
https://archiveofourown.org/works/20934794/chapters/49770302
> 
> CHAPTER 9 Shackled (where Crowley and Aziraphale followed Hastur in our favourite delivery man’s bedroom and found him shackled to his bed. Chapter 8 mentionned Hastur being discorporated by humans while trying to steal some buckets, but there wasn't enough to write about it...  
https://archiveofourown.org/works/20934794/chapters/49983365
> 
> CHAPTER 11 Stitches Where Aziraphale gets patched up very reluctantly by an amazingly patient demon. We learn that Aziraphale is a bitch when injured and that wings can not be miraculously healed.  
https://archiveofourown.org/works/20934794/chapters/50070014


	2. Declaration of a feeling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here we go ! Hastur is trying his best to impress his angel, get rid of his rival, and earn Aziraphale's love.  
This is such a sweet romance...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a long part that I copied and pasted from Whumptober in the middle of this chapter. It was entirely writen from Hastur's perspective and it had to be there too...

It had been five days, and Hastur had brought to Hell as many bucket as he could during that time. He had no choice if he wanted to see his angel again. Beelzebub was very cross, and it took several trips to calm them. Good thing no demon liked earth and being send there was considered a punishment. He will do his best to look annoyed when another corporation would be handed to him in the future.

Finally, he had some spare time. He needed to bring more buckets back, but he’d bought a little reprieve with the last batch. Time to go see his angel. He started with a beautiful bouquet, remembering the delighted smile that had illuminated Aziraphale’s face when he’d seen the first one.

Finally, flowers in hand, he took his post in front of the bookshop, waiting for an opportunity. He had to come in when the beautiful angel and his stupid demon were out.

The flowers didn’t dare wither in the two following days. Hastur just stood there, his eyes never leaving the bookshop’s door. He could wait forever. There was no rush.

Finally, the door opened and the Angel was there. He looked so harmless and innocent Hastur had to repress an urge to laugh in delight. That little bastard of an angel was so good at hiding his true self. No wonder Crawly was so obsessed with him. No wonder he’d been ready to betray Hell just to keep him.

But this angel was not Crawly’s. He was his. The angel just didn’t know it yet, but soon, _Hastur_ would be Aziraphale’s demon.

He watched the pair disappear in that horrible car of Crawly’s and crossed the street to enter the bookshop. A ward burned his hand, but he destroyed it rapidly. He was a Duke of Hell, that little ethereal sigil was not very difficult to overcome.

Strangely, the door was difficult to open. Like a power was fighting him, which was strange, for he didn’t feel anything. It was like the door itself was resisting. He pushed hard, summoning occult energy. The door subsided. At last he was in. He rapidly inspected the ground floor, knocking some old books down with the hem of his mackintosh. Nothing interesting here. He needed the _kitchen_.

The first floor was much more interesting. He didn’t even spare the bedroom a glance, spent a few minutes in the bathroom examining a luffa and trying to understand its purpose (with no avail) before finally reaching his target.

Ah ! Kitchen !

He deposited his bouquet on the kitchen counter. He’d find something to put it in later. First…

He rapidly opened every drawer. Finally, he stilled and a shaky breath escaped him. There they were. Knifes, shiny, sharp… beautiful.

One of them was so different he reached for it on instinct. It almost had a soul… it was made to cut and slice_ anything__…_ it had been created by a powerful spirit, and it was still tainted by it. Reverently, Hastur stowed it in his mackintosh’s inner pocket. _Perfect._

Now that he had a token, he needed to leave his present beautifully arranged. The kettle was perfect for that. He filled it with water and arrange the bouquet to its best advantage before putting it on the counter with a smile.

The door to the kitchen banged loudly, and Crawly was there, looking at him with mad eyes. For one second, none of them moved, then Hastur reached for the knife in a fluid movement and Crowley _bounced _with an outraged cry_…_

Then Aziraphale stood in frond of him, his wings extended again, and he was gleaming so bright from divine light it _hurt_, and it burned worse than lava. Hastur kept his eyes open as long as possible, memorizing the glorious vision of his angel’s _Divine Wrath_. Then everything went blank.

Arriving to the Gate was easy. He didn’t even stumble this time. For a few seconds, he just stood there, beaming, rejoicing in the pain that still haunted his essence.

He’d done it ! He was back to Hell again, and had lost another corporation, but he’d done it ! He had the perfect trophy, a knife so beautiful and sharp, just like his angel. It felt so dangerous, so deadly… it was the best of reminders. He would carry it with him forever.

But he needed another corporation now. He was way behind schedule about the buckets… and with luck, he would catch a glimpse of his dreadful angel. Maybe even fight him again...

His eyes were still burning.

He hoped the pain would last forever.

* * *

Hastur was back. It took him some time arguing with Beelzebub, but he’d finally be granted a corporation. He had to bring some buckets back first, this time. Hell was not really happy with him, and Dagon started to frown whenever she saw him.

He’d promised Beelzebub he would bring some, and even if breaking a promise was considered natural Down There, he had the feeling The Lord of the Flies would not be happy with him if he did. He didn’t want to annoy them. They could deprive him of corporation and send him in the torture pit for centuries. He didn’t want to be be apart from the angel for too long, even if torture was always a treat.

He needed to see him.

He’d brought flowers again. They looked beautiful and smelled delicious. The angel would like them, he was sure. Just had to watch for that good for nothing Crawly. If only he could _destroy_ him for good !

Well… maybe he could. Nothing will stand between the two of them then. That would be a big declaration, getting rid of Aziraphale’s former demon. It would show how serious he was. The angel would be so _angry_ at first, it would probably lead to a great deal of violence. He couldn’t wait to put the mark of his claws on him again. Then Aziraphale would see he owned a true demonic Duke instead of a low-ranking demon. He would be so flattered. Well, he deserved a Duke. 

How to destroy Crawly, though ? Of course holy water was out of the question (didn’t work anyway. Stupid red-haired freak) but he had other means… He’d brought a truly evil blade with him (not the angel’s, he would never soil the angel’s blade with Crawly’s blood) and he knew where to strike to rip a soul out. When you knew where to look, you could rip everything you wanted…

So he was there, waiting in an alley near the bookshop, waiting for the right time to strike. Crowley was near the door, the angel nowhere to be seen. The ginger demon was fumbling his pockets, and fished out the keys to his car with a victorious expression.

Hastur crouched, blade at the ready. He was Seeing Crawly’s soul, the exact point where it was attached to his body and linked to his demonic energy. Just a little point between his shoulder blades. The junction of his wings. Easy to miss. Almost impossible to attain.

He’d done it before. Back Up, and Down There. He was an expert at this. That’s what had Satan make a Duke out of him.

Crawly opened the door, and Hastur prepared to leap. He already knew the other demon wouldn’t have time to react. He was _ dead meat _.

A heavy weight suddenly knocked him to the ground, air leaving his lungs under the attack. Something was on him, pinning him to the ground. Something dreadful, leaking ominous intentions of Wrath and Anger. Hastur started to tremble. He’d been terrified before, but this was even worse than the Fall, feeling his Grace reaped out and burning into flames that seemed to consume his core.

This was so terrible a sensation he thought of praying Her for one second. A voice growled near his ear, sending chills down his spine.

“You will _**NOT**_ destroy him. You will **_NOT_** threaten him. He is **_MINE_**, Duke Hastur. This demon belongs to **_ME_**, do you hear me ?”

He was brutally flipped over and was met with a burning stare. He knew he was crying, but couldn’t help it. He just wanted to disappear.

“Yes. Yes ! I won’t !”

“_**PROMESS**_ **_IT_** !”

“I won’t touch Crawly, I promise ! I’ll leave him be ! Please, Master, have mercy !”

“Good”

The awful sensation was suddenly gone, and Hastur wasn’t looking at red, horrendous eyes any more. 

The Antichrist smiled, and Hastur whimpered.

“If you want to be friends with uncle Aziraphale, that’s not the right way.” The boy seemed to ponder a moment, then brightened.

“Just offer him a book. He loves books. That should make him happy !”

Then the bubble that had them cut from the rest of the world popped, and Crowley’s voice reached them.

“Adam ? Where are you ? We need to go, kid, your parents are waiting for us in an hour !”

“You can’t ride to Tadfield in AN HOUR, Crowley ! You told me they were expecting us for _ diner _!”

“Well, I lied. It’s for lunch. We’ll be there on time, angel, stop fretting. Come on, get in.”

"Did you take his suitcase ?"

"Course I took it. T's in the boot."

“Adam, dear ? Are you here ?”

“Coming, uncle Z !” 

The boy ran away with a wave. The little dog yawned, then followed him.

Hastur finally breathed.

Crawly was off limits. He would have to find another way to get to his goal.

Books, uh ?

* * *

He’d follow the angel and Crawly to a bar and had observed them for the last hour. Aziraphale didn’t seem very happy, and Hastur definitly wasn’t. Crowley was acting possessive, hovering over the angel in a threatening stance, and the angel didn’t seem to mind. This was HIS place !

He regretted not being able to destroy Crawly here and now, but he couldn’t go against Adam’s order. The Antichrist was powerful enough to impose him a restriction, and he had agreed to it. It was as binding as an occult contract. Crawly was off limits. Never mind, he would find another way. He would _make_ the angel chose him.

First, he had to know more about him. Know what Aziraphale _thought _about him. And there was a perfect opportunity. He ordered a flute of champaign to the female human behind the counter. Them pointed to Aziraphale when she came back.

“That’s for him. From an admirer.”

Then he added a demonic charm to the beverage. Only truth would be spoken in the following hours by whoever drank _that._

He rapidly disappeared at the other end of the room, not wanting to be seen if Aziraphale or Crawly searched the secret admirer. He made his way through the crowd just in time to see the angel take a sip.

Perfect.

Then something strange and delightful happened : Crawly and Aziraphale argued, and the angel exited the bar _alone._

Crawly was lounging on his chair miserably. He didn’t seem like he would follow. This was perfect. Hastur stalked the angel.

He was trying to summon the courage to call him when Aziraphale abruptly turned back and bumped into him. Hastur tried his best to put a nice smile on his face.

“Hey, angel”

The angel didn’t recoil, he straightened, probably ready to fight. Adorable.

“Do you want me to smite you again, lord Hastur ?”

_Yes. Oh yes, I want it. But not today._ He needed to talk, to learn… reluctantly, he answered.

“No need, no need… I’m here to talk.”

He started circling the angel, delighting in the meaning of it._ This angel is mine,_ was he saying to any occult being that could have watched them. _Mine, you hear that, Crawly ?_

“Talk ?” answered the angel, following him with his eyes.

“Yes, talk… I want to know if you liked the flowers”

The angel looked confused for a second. He was probably regretting not being able to attack. Hastur regretted it too, but there would be other times for that.

“The flowers ? Yes, that was… very nice.”

Hastur recoiled. That was _rude._

“I’m not nice, I’m never nice. I wanted to show you I think about you.”

Aziraphale made a face. He was probably feeling guilty calling him nice. Well, he could forgive him that. Slip of the tongue, no harm made. The angel spoke again.

“Well… message received, I guess. Is that all ? I have to go.”

_Out of the question !_

“No ! I want to know what you think of me ! Tell me how to do it !” Asked Hastur brusquely.

“Do… what, exactly ?”

Did he have to explain everything ? Wasn’t it clear enough ? He was claiming him, for Satan’s sake ! The circling was explicit enough, wasn’t it ? Well, maybe he had to be clearer. He didn’t know if angels were circling anyway.

“How to have you ! For myself alone ! How to be your only demon. How to_ possess _you ! I’ll do anything ! I can kill other angels, the ones that threw you out ! Would that please you ?”

_ It would definitely please me,_ thought Hastur with a grin. Killing angels was so much fun, and it had been so long...

“Get back to Hell, Hastur. There is nothing for you here.”

Well, that wasn’t what he expected. Aziraphale didn’t answer the question. It was… impossible.

“No, you have to answer ! You have no choice but to answer !”

“I certainly will not answer such a ridiculous question.”

How was it possible ?

“But… you drank it. I saw you. You drank the glass.”

Aziraphale’s face suddenly froze.

“The drink !”

Angelic wrath brusquely deployed and hit Hastur in a tide. That was so delicious the Duke couldn’t care that his perfect plan had failed. The sensation was exquisite, every fibre of his being was in pain, his corporation as much as his spiritual essence. He beamed.

“WHAT WAS IN THAT DRINK ?”

He couldn’t refuse a thing if his love asked it in such a ferocious tone.

“Truth potion. The strongest. I want to know if you like me !”

“How long will it last ?” Asked a slightly more calm angel. It was a shame, really. He liked wrathful Aziraphale _so much._

“Don’t know. A day, maybe two ?”

The Principality’s eyes flashed, and his mouth set in a firm line, disdain, disgust, contempt, anger all mingled in the most beautiful glare he ever received.

“Well… I see. Good day, Lord Hastur.”

Hastur didn’t move, looking at his retreating back in adoration. He was pretty sure no one had ever received such a glance from these beautiful eyes. There was a lot of feelings there, and they were all perfect.

He just needed to add love into the mix. It wouldn’t take long. Aziraphale was obviously falling for him already.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is CHAPTER 13 : Adrenalin, where we see Aziraphale and Crowley’s perspective on the break in in the bookshop and the theft of the knife  
https://archiveofourown.org/works/20934794/chapters/50134790
> 
> Here is CHAPTER 21 : Laced Drink, where Hastur does his best to discover what are Aziraphale's feelings for him.  
https://archiveofourown.org/works/20934794/chapters/50347166
> 
> I hope you enjoyed. I'm attacking my favourite part : Aziraphale and Hastur's "agreement"  
We are entering unknown waters here.  
And there will be their first dates ! Aww... can't wait to write that...  
Of course starting now we will have Aziraphale POV also. It should be very funny to compare the two ^^  
Chapter 3 will be the last taking place during Whumptober !


	3. Hooked on a feeling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley has lost his powers. Aziraphale does not want to accept it.  
He calls in reinforcements...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is ! Aziraphale finally desires to see Hastur...  
This is so sweet...

Aziraphale looked at his friend’s face, half buried in the layers of blankets.

It was cruel. It was the worst torture Hell could have thought of. Cutting a demon from the source of Hellish power ? It was… unthinkable.

“_It’s to punish me. They want to make a point.” _

They had. They had more than made a bloody point. They’d declare_ war._

“_Not the end of the world, angel. I’m still immortal. Nothing’s really changed.” _

They both knew this was a lie.

He had tried to discuss proposed to search a solution, to _help._

“_There’s no way, angel. T’s okay. You can’t do a thing.” _

And the last, excruciating sentence.

“_Please, Aziraphale. I don’t want to talk about it.” _

There was so much _pain_ in the golden eyes. So much resignation. Crowley had abandoned the fight before it even started.

Aziraphale made sure that his friend was deeply asleep before straightening stiffly. He stayed there, looking at Crowley’s exhausted face abandoned on the arm of his couch, feeling anger, pain and a terrible want for revenge build up inside him. He would not tolerate this. He would not let this happen. Not in a million years.

He rested his hand on Crowley’s forehead for a few seconds, his stony face softening briefly.

“Everything is going to be alright, my dear. Do not fear.”

Then he walked right to the forbidden shelves, the ones that were hidden in the back room, behind a tartan curtain.

He pulled it and looked coldly at the books. Then picked “The Invocation of Demons and the Use of Bounding Deals”.

Time to call a certain Duke of Hell.

Drawing the circle was child’s game. The basics sigils were completed in a jiffy. Aziraphale knew a lot about summoning demons. More than any human and most _actual_ demons, in fact. That was something he’d carefully kept from Heaven for thousands of years. Unlike his other lies and omissions, this particular one had never made him feel guilty. Summoning had been quite the hype in medieval times. As was holy water. He’d done a lot of research to protect Crowley back then, and had slightly rewritten almost every book on the subject, just enough for them to be ineffective. Public proofreading _had_ come in handy.

Finding the exact writing of Hastur’s name was harder. It took him half of the day. Enochian was tricky that way, the same name could be spelled hundreds of ways, and you _didn’t_ want to misspell a name written in Enochian with your own blood. But finally, as the sun set, everything was ready.

After checking on Crowley, the angel lighted the candles and initiated his incantations. Smoke began to gather in the circle, whirling faster and faster before taking form.

Hastur blinked, looking around in astonishment before focussing on Aziraphale.

The angel broke the circle with his foot. He needed Hastur’s trust, and he needed it quick. Caution was not part of his vocabulary any more.

« Hello, Duke Hastur. I want to make a Deal. »

Hastur couldn’t believe his luck. Aziraphale had called him. Specifically. He wanted to talk ! To him ! And make a deal, but Hastur was more interested in what the angel was ready to offer than what he wanted from him.

“Hello, angel. How are you ?”

“Do not call me that. Do you know what Hell is planning for Crowley ?”

Hastur blinked in surprise.

“Planning ? Nothing, he’s out of reach. Nobody can touch him now.”

“Well, obviously they’re not trusting you, then.”

The demon laughed manically. That was a fun idea.

“Of course not ! We’re demons ! I would be insulted if Hell trusted me !”

Aziraphale frowned.

“Crowley has been cut from his source of powers. I need to find out how and to reverse the process.”

Hastur straightened, suddenly serious. That was heavy intell. Hell had never done THAT before.

“You’re crazy, Aziraphale. It’s impossible. If Hell did this, there’s no way you can fight it.”

“Well, I guess you can’t help me then.”

The angel turned away and picked up the invocation book.

“I’ll have to call someone else. Someone more powerful. Goodbye, Duke Hastur. Do not let me detain you.”

Hastur’s hand shot and he grabbed the angel by the arm, digging his fingernails in the fabric of his jacket.

“Hey ! You called _ME_ ! _I’m_ powerful ! Try me !”

Aziraphale looked down at his arm, then at Hastur. The demon let go and stumbled a step backwards.

“What do you want ? I’ll do it.”

Aziraphale smiled coldly.

“I need an inside man. What is your price for betraying Hell ?

Hastur licked his lips.

“I know what I want, angel.”

“Already told you : don’t call me that. And name your price. I’ll pay almost anything.”

“Well I want to call you that. So that’s part of the deal.”

The angel frowned slightly.

Permitting you to call me “angel” ?

“Yes. That’s Crowley’s thing. Now it won’t be any more. I want to call you that too.”

Aziraphale answered without the slightest hesitation.

“Agreed.”

“And I want you to stop seeing him. Definitely.”

The response was immediate.

“Absolutely not.”

“You said you’d pay any price, angel.”

“I said almost. Not that one.”

Hastur smiled. HE would have accepted the deal, for Aziraphale. But his love was real, and it was one more proof that Aziraphale was fooling himself about Crawly. He had only chosen him by lack of choice. Up till now.

“Selfish, aren’t you ? You must not love him very much if you’re not ready to make that sacrifice for him.”

Aziraphale’s eyes suddenly cleared, turning that delicious, cold ice blue Hastur loved so much.

“You, Duke Hastur, know nothing of love. Crowley would rather live without his powers than renounce my presence, and I feel the same about him.”

Hastur wasn’t sure he’d follow, but he could tell this particular demand wouldn’t be granted. He knew about love. A lot. They had what humans called movies, in Hell. Two of them, even. And he’d seen both (for research only, of course. Every demon had wanted to do research about them. Several times. Hell was boring). The thing was, Hastur had a pretty good idea of romance. He knew how it worked.

“I want diner.”

“Diner ? You want to eat ?”

“Yes. Diner date. With you. And hold your hand on the tablecloth.”

Aziraphale nodded.

“Agreed. I want your help, unconditionally. I will not ask you to risk your life if I can avoid it. And I want a time limit on every part of the contract. Six weeks.”

Hastur grinned.

“I want at least a date a week, angel.”

“you got it. Friday nights. We will take the opportunity to exchange informations. Now, if it is agreeable to you...”

The angel rolled his left sleeve, pulled a quill out of a drawer and used the sharp end to cut his arm. Hastur’s breath hitched at the vision of golden, shiny drops of ichor on the angel’s arm. Aziraphale handed him the dripping quill.

“The seal, if you please, Duke Hastur.”

Hastur hesitated. There was something else he wanted, more than anything. It was now or never. He said it.

Aziraphale's eyes widened in shock. His mouth tightened in a grim line. But he didn't back down.

"I'll do it. Once Crowley has got his powers back." He answered with a disgusted expression.

Hastur hastily took the quill before the angel could change his mind. _It was the best contract of his life_, he thought while engraving the binding seal on his arm. Both gold and black blood migled, and burned the complicated oath on the demon's arm. Aziraphale felt a violent Pull at his essence, and closed his eyes a few seconds to fight an urge to throw up.

"It's done, angel. The deal is on. The contract is signed."

Aziraphale smiled a sweet, cold smile.

Six weeks. He had no time to lose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 25 : Secret injury, where we learn about Crowley's lost of powers :  
https://archiveofourown.org/works/20934794/chapters/50460416
> 
> If you haven't read Whumptober, the next adventures of Aziraphale and Hastur will take place before chapter 26. Do not read it yet if you do not like spoil ;)


	4. Suffering for a feeling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Hastur are fomenting. And dating.  
Will they each attain their goal ?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We will learn a lot about fluffy handcuffs in there... consider yourselves warned !^^
> 
> There is a paragraph in the middle I have copied and slighty changed from Whumptober to have it fit Hastur's POV.

“What are you doing, angel ?”

Aziraphale interrupted his task and looked over his shoulder, frowning.

“Good evening, Hastur. Let me just finish that before our meeting.”

The Duke of Hell put a cigarette to his lips and lighted it with Hellfire. Aziraphale did his best not to recoil. He was supposed to be immune to Hellfire, after all. But seeing it so near was putting him on edge. One touch could just… destroy him forever. He rapidly closed the second handcuff and straightened. Hastur looked at the unconscious man.

“Who’s that ?”

“A lost soul. He tried to steal someone’s wallet and I stopped him. I have to patrol on Friday night.”

“Why’s that ?”

“I told Crowley I was patrolling. I want to lie to him as little as I can.”

“Why don’t you just kill him ?” Asked Hastur matter of factly.

Aziraphale tensed, his hands balling into fists, and a chilly, metallic glint appeared in his eyes. Hastur grinned.

“Wasn’t talking about Crawly, but feel free to think about it. Nah, talking about _him._” he waved at the thug.

“For the hundredth time, it’s _Crowley_, not Crawly. And no, it would be a little rash to kill that poor boy. He merely lost his way. The police will come and collect him shortly. Did you find anything new Down There ?”

“I found the seal near Styx. Just where you told me to look.”

“Good. Describe it to me.”

“No. You owe me a dinner, angel, I’ll draw it after. what’s with the fur ?”

Aziraphale blinked. Following Hastur’s train of thoughts was often difficult.

“On the cufflinks ? I don’t want them to hurt themselves while they are waiting for the police. I discovered these existed a while ago, so I bought some. They’re very soft."

Hastur eyed the fluffy white fur surrounding the ominous, gleaming metal. It was exactly like his angel.

He’d found a perfect gift for next week.

  


“Alright, I am ready. Let us go. There is an Indian restaurant not far from here. Their massala is the best in London.”

The two entities started walking, smog whirling around them.

“Is there alcohol in it ?”

“Not everything is a drink, Hastur.”

“Drinks are the only interesting thing that humans invented. Food is _disgusting_.”

“You sound like Gabriel.”

Hastur turned abruptly to grab the angel’s collar, but Aziraphale was already two steps away.

“Do NOT try to attack me, Duke Hastur. I will not hesitate to defend myself.”

“Well, don’t compare me to a fucking Archangel, then !”

“You are right. That was mean of me. You do not resemble Gabriel, apart from your aversion of food. I am a little on edge, if that can be considered an excuse.”

Both of them resumed their walk side by side like nothing happened.

“You’re apologising to me, angel ?” Asked Hastur with a sideways glance.

Aziraphale was not an imbecile, and he knew Crowley from millennia. His friend didn’t like to talk about Hell, but he’d gathered enough drunken complaints and angry tirades to have an accurate idea of how it all functioned. 

_ Never apologise, angel. Sign of weaknesss... _

“Absolutely not. I don’t _apologise_.”

Hastur barked a laughter.

“Good. I was worried I’d had to kill you for a second.”

Aziraphale shrugged. He knew the risks from the beginning. Hastur found him fascinating. Crowley had explained very thoroughly what that meant.

_ He’s probably fixing on your bad side, angel. Give him one occasion and he will destroy you. I’m serious ! Throw that bloody bouquet out ! _

That had led to a very entertaining argument, Aziraphale pretending to be insulted at the “bad side” comment, and Crowley getting on a rant about “demonic suitors” and “angels too stupid to know their own good”.

After two “dates” the angel had a pretty good idea of what Hastur thought and what he was capable of doing. Reading people desires and knowing what they could do in certain circumstances was something he was good at.

He knew two things about Hastur.

The first was that he was obsessed with him. Passionately.

The second was that he was a sadistic, violent demon that could explode at any second.

He was perfectly capable of killing him atrociously before weeping and burying him tenderly in a romantic crypt. He would probably find a way to consider someone else guilty of his demise (Crowley, most definitely) and spend the rest of his life trying to “avenge” him.

That was certainly romantic, but not at all relaxing. He had to stay constantly alert and ready to jump away. He hated to have to carry a flask of Holy Water on himself at all times.

He had no desire to destroy Hastur. He quite liked the demon. He was honest to a fault and had a strong sense of honour. Weird, certainly, but strong. Of course the fact that Hastur considered humans beings as toys and/or snacks and that Aziraphale had been the protector of Humanity for 6000 years was not helping building a healthy, trusting relationship. But the Duke was helping him and was doing his best.

Aziraphale would hate to have to kill him.

The sight of the restaurant put a smile to his lips. He would soon discover the seal that was keeping away Crowley from the source of Demonic powers.

The usual waitress lead them to a small table near the kitchen. She was not smiling today, which was unusual. Not the table he’d asked for, but Aziraphale didn’t protest like he would have in other circumstances. He was not very hungry anyway. He just wanted to know what that bloody seal looked like.

Once seated, he pulled a little leather notebook and a pen out of his jacket and put on his glasses, before laying his left arm on the table, hand extended, while he prepared himself to take notes.

Hastur grabbed his hand with a delighted grin and Aziraphale sighed inwardly. The demon was convinced _this_ was romantic. It was kind of heartbreaking. He should suggest Crowley to send other movies Down There once all that would be over. Maybe that Die Hard thing would please demons. “Pretty in pink” was definitely messing with their poor minds.

He considered an instant to order drinks, but it would not be a good idea to act like a caring date. Shame, really. Hastur was probably eager for a Martini. Aziraphale repressed his angelic instinct to please and make people comfortable and just set his mind on business mode. 

“How did it looked ? The seal ?”

Hastur raised a hand and called loudly until the waitress came with a stormy expression. Aziraphale would have been mortified had he not be so eager to have an answer to his question.

“Martini.” ordered Hastur with contempt.

“And a glass of Merlot, if it is not an imposition. Thank you, my dear” added Aziraphale with the hope that Savitri would not hold his diner companion against him.

Apparently she was, and she sent him a disgusted look before getting back to the kitchens without a word.

Well… no time to worry about that. He only had three weeks left.

“The seal, Hastur.”

“Yeah, yeah. It was round. With a point in the middle. No, not like that. Pointier. No ! Give me that, angel, you’re a terrible painter.”

“This is not paint… oh, whatever.” He gave his notebook and pen to the demon, watching him draw with concentration, his tongue striking out between his teeth.

Savitri came back and all but slammed their orders in front of them, sending a long, deliberate look at their joined hands before walking away, head held high.

The poor girl seemed in quite a frenzy.

Aziraphale made a mental note to check on her once this dreadful business would be over. 

  


Savitri got back to the kitchens, tears pooling in her eyes.

How could he ? Men were_ PIGS_ ! She’d never thought him the kind to… and to bring his lover _HERE _! Where he came with _Mister Crowley_ ! Was he really thinking she would just shut up next time they came ? Not say a _thing_, and let him cheat without warning his life long partner ?

Well… of course she would shut up. It was not her place. But… but they seemed to love each over so much, and they had come for years, and it was just not _fair_. She’d always thought they were the Perfect Couple. She’d always hoped that one day, she would meet her other half, like they did. And mister Aziraphale just destroyed it all. She remembered the nickname Mister Crowley used, the one she’d always thought adorably fitting.

_Angel my ass_, she thought angrily, pouring a glass of lassi for table 3.

  


* * *

It was their fourth date, but Hastur knew it would be the last. He’d done it ! He’d filled the contract ! And the angel will have to give him what he’d asked. Tonight !

He almost walzed into the restaurant. Aziraphale was there already, seated stiffly in his chair, a grim expression on his face. He loved it when his angel frowned that way, like he was about to smite someone. Hastur looked at a waiter carrying drinks to another table. The man changed his course and put them on their table.

The Duke of Hell sat and took a glass.

“Hey angel.”

Aziraphale shot him a deadly look.

“You were supposed to _do_ it !”

“What are you talking about ? I did it ! He’s got them back !”

“No, he hasn’t, Hastur. He would have told me. You must have done it _wrong_ !”

Hastur snarled and gulped down his drink. Aziraphale hadn’t touched his. He was staring at the demon with fury. Hastur found him  _ beautiful. _

“I did. I’ve done it exactly how you told me. It changed colours, like you said it would. He is connected ! I know he is ! He has to !”

He knew he was right. He had felt it, when Crawly’s connexion to Hellish Host had been repaired. He was quite sure a lot of higher demons had felt it.

Aziraphale got up abruptly, his chair screeching loudly. Everyone in the pub stopped talking and looked at him.

“You are _lying_ to me !” he yelled.

Hastur got up in turn. He liked being yelled at almost as much as yelling himself. Which was a lot.

“I’m not ! I want Crowley to be back to normal as much as you did, angel, you know that !”

“Don’t call me _that_. You’ve lost the right to call me that, you liar ! You breached the contract !”

“Did NOT ! See ! Still got the bloody seal !”

The demon rolled up his sleeve and showed the black marking on his forearm. Aziraphale deflated.

“I… don’t understand. How… how could it not… it _had_ to work” his voice was desperate, imploring.

Hastur hate that his angel was still thinking about stupid Crawly after all their perfect dates. But he was patient. Aziraphale probably needed one more week before choosing him.

“bites me. I did it right. Should have get it back by now.” Hastur raised his hands upwards to convey his stupefaction.. “He should be healed. I don’t understand. And you _owe_ me my reward.”

“I will certainly not do it ! The contract was clear. You had to help me until Crowley got his powers back. He did not. No reward for you.”

Hastur growled. He’d _deserved_ it. The angel could _not_ back down now. Not so close !

“Are you stupid, angel ? The time is running out. You know the price if you don’t honour your part.”

“There is still one week. And you didn’t honour yours.”

  


There was a hiss, and Crawly brusquely appeared in front of them, eyes ablazed, hands shaking in anger. He sat down and the two others did the same, a little mesmerized. The Serpent spoke in a low, threatening growl, staring at Aziraphale with wide eyes.

“I’ve got them back. What’s the deal ?”

Hastur was terrified. Crawly looked mad, and if he decided to fight, the Duke of Hell could do _nothing_. He had promised the Antichrist. That was the kind of contract you couldn’t break. he still remembered that ominous, awfull feeling.

But Crawly was _HEALED_. He could have his reward, the angel couldn’t say no, now. He smiled broadly and looked at Aziraphale in happy anticipation.

“See ? See ? He’s got them ! I told you ! I helped you !”

Aziraphale looked incredulous. He was staring at Crawly in disbelief.

“You do ? Really ?”

Crowley snapped his fingers and made the angel’s glass explode sending wine everywhere. Aziraphale  seemed so happy. Hastur didn’t like that one bit. It was  _his_ moment ! The angel had to respect his part of the deal, tonight !

“You owe me !” Reminded Hastur urgently.

Aziraphale nodded, his eyes not leaving Crowley.

“I do. But not here. The park.”

Crowley snapped his fingers again and the three of them were in the middle of grass. Hastur thought he knew this place. Yes, it was there that they’d kidnapped Crawly for his trial.

“What’s the deal, angel ?” Asked Crowley again.

Without a word, Aziraphale extended his hand towards Hastur.

Hastur fumbled in the inner pocket of his mackintosh with frantic movements. _Finally._ Finally ! He fished what he was looking for and brandished a long knife. _Aziraphale’s_ knife, and gave it to the angel.

Aziraphale took the knife. Then Looked at Hastur with pure _wrath. _Never had the Duke seen such a terrifying expression. The the angel attacked with a raging roar. It was like he was possessed, like anger and bloodlust were so strong inside of him that he had to get it out.

With a violent, vicious slice, Aziraphale cut deeply in Hastur’s upper arm. The pain exploded as his dark blood started to poor.

It was such a marvellous feeling.

The angel didn’t stop, slicing without interruption, without mercy or hesitation. Each stab was a torture. This was a dance Hastur wanted never to end.

But he was feeling his corporation weakening. He fell on his knees, and looked up at his frightening, beautiful angel.

He beamed. Aziraphale  plunged with perfect aim. Directly to the heart.

Hastur felt his corporation die, and sighed with delight.

_Back to Hell_ , he had the time to think.  _Totally worth it._

  


* * *

  
  


_ Two months later _

Crowley found them in a drawer, while searching for his phone (Aziraphale had the strangest way of tidying his desk : when it was too crowded for his taste, everything ended up in a drawer).

He stared at the thing in confusion, before slowly putting on one of the widest smiles of his life. Oh, the angel would never hear the end of _that one_!

He pulled the furry, fluffy, scarlet handcuffs out of the drawer. It was top range quality. He had no idea why Aziraphale had them here, but he knew it must be an incredibly funny story. He was in for a good laugh !

“hey angel ?” he crooned, making his way through the bookshop, the shackles hanging from his finger. “Annnnngeeeel !”

“I am with a customer, my dear” answered his friend somewhere near the door. Oh, _good_. It would be even better with an audience. He put on his best _“Look what I found I hope you have a good explanation for this you are__ in so__ much trouble”_ face before turning around a shelve to see Aziraphale anxiously looking at a middle aged man with a decided expression, a book in his hands.

Oh. Chesterton’s signed first edition. Crowley’s pretend frown turned into a real one. Time for someone to go away. Aziraphale loved his Chesterton collection, and Crowley was rather fond of Father Brown.

“Angel ? Can you tell me what _this_ was doing in your drawer ? Cause I’ve never seen it before. Isn’t it strange ?”

Upon hearing his voice, Aziraphale shot him a half relieved, half pleading look. Then he saw the handcuffs and blinked in confusion before staring at the book again like it was his infant and someone had just snatched it from its cradle. He answered absent-mindedly.

“Oh, that ? It was a gift. They are so beautiful I have difficulties resigning myself to use them. The colour is very nice.”

Crowley’s mind froze. This was way too much informations to process in one go.

“What ? Gift ? Use ?”

The angel seemed to understand something was happening. He stopped staring at the book and peered at his friend.

“Are you all right, my dear ?”

“Who offered it to you ? Book girl, eh ? That’s the kind of thing she’ll do.”

“Oh no, it was Hastur.”

Silence fell on the bookshop. The customer took a look at Crowley’s face and stepped back.

“What? Hastur? _HASTUR_ gave THAT to you ?”

“Why, yes. What is wrong about it ?”

“It is wrong in so many levels I don’t even know where to start, you stupid… _don’t you dare take that away with you, you freakin’ thief !_”

The human, who had completely forgot he was holding the novel and was opening the door to discreetly escape the embarrassing scene, let out a little yelp, dropped the object on a shelf, and all but ran out.

Aziraphale let out a relieved sigh and picked up his book lovingly.

“Thank you, my dear. That was very effective.”

“Oy, you ! T wasn’t an act ! What do you mean Hastur gave it to you ? Whatever for ?”

“To use it, obviously.” Aziraphale moved in direction of the back room. Crowley side stepped in front of him.

“I already know the answer to this question will not be any I can think of, but _how _do you intend to use this, exactly ?”

The angel looked at the demon’s stern expression and tutted.

“My dear, are you trying my patience ? These objects are made for an obvious purpose. I use them exactly how they should be.”

Crowley looked at the fluffy object in confusion.

“You used that on Hastur ?”

“Why, of course not ! No, I am using it on men I meet in the street at night.”

Crowley pinched his nose. There was exactly _one_ person in the entire Creation that could utter that sentence with a perfectly candid expression.

“Okay. I think I’ll have to sit for that one. I’m pretty sure it’s gonna discorporate me. Still don’t know if I’ll die from shame or laughter, though.”

Aziraphale straightened his back, a little offended.

“Are you planning on making fun of me again ?”

“Well I didn’t when I woke up this morning, but you’re really not helping me here.”

“I’ll fetch the wine, then. You are easier to tolerate when drunk.”

“Really ? I’m nicer when I drink ?”

“Not at all.” answered the angel tersely, making his way to the staircase. “_**I**_ am nicer when _**I**_ drink.”

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crowley's POV on this chapter, and the story of how he got to stalk Aziraphale on his last date :  
WhumpTober Chapter 26 : Humiliation  
https://archiveofourown.org/works/20934794/chapters/50476556
> 
> How Crowley helps a waitress believe in love again by being overdramatic :  
WhumpTober Chapter 32 :Embrace  
https://archiveofourown.org/works/20934794/chapters/50631353
> 
> We're out of Whumptober, guys! Next story will be a new one, with all of the three main characters's POV !


	5. Strenghtening of a feeling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hastur is back ! With a nice gift !

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted a grumpy Crowley today. It got a little out of control ^^

Crowley was lounging on the couch, vaguely pondering if he wanted to take another nap or to get up and go get some croissants in the nearby bakery (he always took the time for a caramel cappuccino across the street on his way there. He’d glued a coin just at the right place, so he could watch suckers try to pick it up while he enjoyed his drink at his usual table).

None of the plans were agreeable to him. He sighed, stretching uncomfortably.

“Is something the matter, my dear ?” Asked Aziraphale, coming from the bookshop with a crate and putting it on his desk without efforts.

Crowley snarled.

“You’re not supposed to be able to do _that_, stupid. Humans can’t carry that much. Remember that time you almost got burned at the stake ? You wanna get discorporated or something ?”

Aziraphale looked at his friend with reproach.

“Yes, I remember perfectly_ every time _someone tried to burn me alive. And there is no human here to _see _me. What is wrong with you ?”

Crowley hissed and sat up brusquely.

“Nothing’s wrong with _me_, angel ! I’m fine, you’re the one acting like a...”

Aziraphale closed his eyes and breathed in slowly. Crowley blinked like a man waking up from a dream.

“My dear ?” Asked the angel softly.

“Uh ? M’okay. Sorry ‘bout that.”

Aziraphale waved it away breezily.

“Why are you on edge ? Didn’t you just wake up ?”

“I did. Feeling restless. Don’t know what to do… don’t want to do anything. M’bored.”

The angel’s eyes widened in understanding.

“Oh. You’re evil deprived. When was your last mischief ?”

Crowley made a face.

“M’not an addict, angel.”

“Of course you are. As I am. Well it won’t get better on its own, dear. We have to go out.”

“We ? I can pull off some dark deeds without you holding my hand, angel.” snarled the demon before grimacing and looking away.

Aziraphale smiled.

“You will continue to ask for a fight if you stay here. Is that what you want, Crowley ? Try to remember who will prepare your cappuccino tomorrow morning before answering, will you ?

“’Kay, ‘Kay, you win. Let’s just… walk.”

The demon stomped angrily towards the door. He didn’t like to be like that. He brusquely opened the door and _froze._

Hastur was standing in front of him, hand raised like he was about to knock. He had a wrapped up package under his arm. Wrapped in _clean _paper. With _hearts_ on it.

Suddenly, Crowley’s restlessness focussed on one precise spot. He knew who he wanted to pick a fight with _now_.

“Hasssstur.”

“Crawly.”

Aziraphale’s surprised voice chimed in.

“Hastur ! What a pleasant surprise.”

Crowley slammed the door on Hastur’s face and whirled on himself, his eyes all yellow and serpentine. Some scales were appearing on his cheekbones.

“Pleasant ? Really, angel ?”

Aziraphale frowned slightly.

“Why, yes. Hastur helped me when no one else would. I owe him a tremendous debt.”

Crowley’s heart skipped a bit. _Shit_. He’d hoped it had all ended with the contract, but he _knew_ it would not be that simple. Stupid angel and his stupid sense of honour. Of course he still considered himself indebted. Of _course_ !

Well, it was still worth a try…

“Come on angel, don’t let him in. I can kick him out. Let me kick him out...”

Aziraphale shook his head decidedly.

“No. Out of the question. I owe him, Crowley.”

And Crowley had to subside, because, honestly ? If anyone had helped him restore the angel’s Grace, he’d consider himself indebted for life.

“Come in, Hastur” invited the angel, opening the door. “Do you want some tea ?”

“Is there alcohol in that ?” answered Hastur, entering the bookshop with a smirk at Crowley, who tried not to bare his fangs.

“There will be in yours” answered the angel distractedly, heading for the stairs to the apartment. It was an act, Crowley could see that much, even if Hastur couldn’t. Aziraphale was on edge. Good. The angel was not stupid. Once more, Crowley asked himself what exactly had happened in his friend’s mind during that bloody contract. Aziraphale was a thinker. An overthinker even, some days. He had to have thought of EVERY possible outcome for him and Hastur’s little cabal, and knowing Hastur, eighty percent of them couldn’t have been reassuring.

The Duke of Hell looked around him with a proprietary air.

“Nice place you got here, angel. Like it.”

“Don’t call him THAT !” growled Crowley, already angry. Ten seconds. Only ten seconds and he already was wishing for a bucket of Holy Water.

_Shit_, he had to calm down. But that _son of_… calling the _angel_…

Hastur grinned, staring at the Serpent, while Aziraphale stopped at the foot of the stairs.

“Well you can whine all you want, _Crawly_. The angel’s _mine_, now. You hear me ? I circled him, I held his hand, I tasted his blood. You didn’t do all that, did you ? Aziraphale’s MY angel !”

Crowley yelled and leaped. There were things that were not to be borne ! And in Aziraphale’s bookshop ! NO ! No way he’ll let that kind of thing be SAID. He grabbed Hastur by the collar and shoved him hard into the wall.

“He’s not _YOUR_ angel, you piece of shit ! Aziraphale is_** NOT**_ your angel, you hear me ? He’s his _OWN_ angel, stupid !”

Crowley shot a sideways glance at his friend, who looked a little startled, but not offended (thank G… Someone).

Hastur cackled. It was a disgusting sound.

“Then he doesn’t belong to you, right ? Just as I said, I can claim him.”

“Of course you can” Said Aziraphale, coming close.

Crowley looked at him for almost five seconds. Then let go of Hastur and _laughed_. The angel smiled, and both exchanged a knowing look.

“Yeah, you can. Try and claim him. But as I said, Aziraphale’s his own. Not mine, nor anybody else’s. Kind of difficult to _claim_ him, hmm ? You’d have to fight _with_ him_ over_ him. Loophole here. Headache too.”

“Really, Duke Hastur, I do not think there is a reason to fight at all. You do not need to kill anyone to come and have a drink once in a while.”

Hastur’s face suddenly looked like one a very ugly, very scary kid on Christmas day.

Crowley let out a snarl.

“Really, angel ? Wanna have him come here ? On regular basis ? Really ?”

“Well if he promise not to hurt anyone on earth, yes, I do not see why not.”

“I won’t” offered Hastur hastily, feeling it was time to push his luck. “Won’t touch a human if you let me come here and talk.”

_Oh. Oh you bastard_, thought Crowley. _You beautiful, awful bastard._

Of course Aziraphale would use his leverage on a sadistic, hungry, human-eating demon. That angel would do anything to protect humanity. Knowing Hastur, and seeing how much time he was spending on earth these days, that kind of demand would spare a pretty good amount of lives. That was clever. That was _dangerous_.

“Got a gift for you, angel” added Hastur with a wide smile, handing his parcel to Aziraphale, who took it calmly and oppened it with care. Crowley crouched slightly, half expecting something living and deadly to bounce out of the paper. But it was a book. A cook book. On spaghetti.

Aziraphale put on a waxy smile.

“What a… thoughtful gift. That is very… very thoughtful, Duke Hastur.

The demon grinned, happy to have marked a point.

“I’ll come back later. When Crawly won’t be here to interfere. I’ll bring other gifts !”

“Looking forward to see you again” answered Aziraphale with a small smile.

Both angel and demon looked as the Duke of Hell walked away, an ominous aura following him. Then Crowley’s hand slapped the back of the angel’s head.

Aziraphale sighed.

“Really, that was uncalled for.”

“You invited a bloody murderous, psychopath _demon_ into your house, stupid !”

The angel raised an eyebrow.

“_You_ were the one suggesting you should come and live here.”

Crowley spluttered.

“Not fun ! Not time for jokes, angel ! He’ll destroy you if he’s got the occasion !”

“I am aware of that, and I am not defenceless, unlike the humans he could meet. It’s a good deal.”

“He’s stronger than you… He’s stronger than _me_, angel.”

“But not than both of us together, and I highly doubt you will let me face him on my own. Anyway, I have Holy Water on me. Had it since I made the deal.”

Crowley staggered back, face whitening.

“Holy _bloody _Water ? Got that on you ? I’m right here, angel, you crazy ? What if there’s an accident ? You’re so clumsy you could discorporate me with that thing !”

Aziraphale gaped in outrage.

“An accident ? Like I would pull the flask out of my pocket, unscrew it and toss it to your face on _accident _? YOU always have Hellfire at hand, did I_ ever_ made a remark about it ?”

Crowley blinked.

“And I think that is a little hypocrite for someone who _begged_ for galleons of it not so long ago !”

The demon pouted and crossed his arms, looking elsewhere.

“Didn’t _begged_” he muttered.

“You did !” answered the angel, donning his coat. “Now if it is not too much to ask, can we just go out and find you someone to tempt or annoy before I lose my patience ? You are becoming quite a pain in the behind.”

* * *

Hastur stole an awful lot of buckets that day. He felt invincible. Hell’s leaks had better behave themselves !

He knew it now. He'd know it since the angel discorporated him so beautifully. He loved him back ! It was so obvious in the way he'd destroyed him so_ perfectly_. He couldn't wait the day that bastard Crawly would leave them alone. It was his turn to make the angel _suffer_. He was probably waiting for it, poor love. But soon, very soon he would come back and give him what he deserved.  
Love was about exchange, and he couldn't be selfish, after all.

But for the time beeing, he would have to remind the angel of his devotion with gifts. And wait for Crowley to go the Heaven out of here. Couldn't he see he was in the way ? Probably doing it on purpose, like any sore loser...

The Antichrist had been right about the books, though. Why didn’t he think of it himself ? Books ! Books where everywhere in the angel’s home ! Of course he would be happy to have one as a gift. He already had an idea for the next time he will be able to see him. It was a book, and a very English one. The angel liked England, or he wouldn’t live in it.  
And the man who sold it to him had said everyone _loved_ football.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hastur is winning !!! Bucketwise, at least...


	6. Betting on a feeling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Crowley's worst enemy is himself, and Aziraphale drinks cocoa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to add another chapter. This story is longer than the others.  
Hope you'll enjoy !

It had been two weeks since Hastur’s last visit. With a book about _football_.

Crowley knew he shouldn’t let the other demon get on his nerves. But he couldn’t help it, seeing Hastur at the door to the bookshop always had him want to throw the angel’s mug (or his desk) at the Duke’s face.

He looked so _smug_. So certain. It was creepy, and not good creepy.

Aziraphale was stubborn about it. Hastur had helped him, he deserved consideration. A mountain was easier to move than Stubborn Aziraphale , and Crowley knew him enough to recognise that stern gaze when he saw it. He didn’t even try to reason with him. Waste of time and energy, that’s what that would be. No, he had to find another way to get them both rid of that psychopath, preferably before he discorporated the angel horribly.

He found the way, surprisingly, thanks to Aziraphale. His friend was classifying a bunch of old papyrus with all the love and care of a mother towards her newborn. It was quite sickening (all right, it was not _sickening_ exactly. Annoying, more so. Yes, annoying, that’s what it was). Aziraphale had been at it for three days, and the demon was getting bored. But he couldn’t get out. No way, not with Hastur’s obsession. He had _nightmares_ about finding Aziraphale’s broken and cold body, sprawled amongst a stack of torn books, all stained by golden ichor.

And the sad part was that he knew his nightmare was Hastur’s favourite dream. And the Duke of Hell was way stronger than himself, or his angelic friend.

Oh, he knew Hastur wouldn’t really destroy the angel, just discorporate him. He was too smitten to actually kill him. But it wasn’t really reassuring, a discorporation was a death after all, and no one would want his best friend do die horribly (except probably Hastur, if he ever had a friend). Not to mention they still didn’t know if the angel would be granted another corporation should it happen.

So here he was, uncomfortably sprawled on the couch (when Crowley was ill at ease, which was not often, he sensed it physically as well as mentally) his gaze set on the angel like a watchdog. Aziraphale huffed.

“Crowley ! It’s been hours, please cease that little game you’re playing at, whatever it is this time !”

Crowley pouted, a little hurt. “M’not playing any game, only looking. Have a right to look, have I ?”

Aziraphale sent him a dubious glance, and softened a little, apparently convinced of Crowley’s innocence.

“All right, them” he declared, carefully placing the last scroll on his desk “Why are you looking at me like this ? What is wrong ?”

“Nothing. Nothing’s wrong, angel. Cross my heart.”

His friend’s slightly concerned face turned worried.

“You are such a terrible liar, Crowley. Is it Hell ? It’s Hell, isn’t it ? What have they done ? Are you all right ?”

Crowley could tell his angel was seconds away from summoning his flaming sword. He jumped on his feet.

“M’fine ! Calm down, for the love of… just calm down, all right ? I was thinking about Hastur.”

“Oh. That.”

“Yes, _THAT_.”

The angel tutted, resuming his examination of whatever old Egyptian knowledge he had in his hands (a recipe of honeyed wine).

“Do not be afraid, my dear” (Crowley was fairly sure his friend didn’t even realise he’d used _THAT_ phrasing, but it was quite insulting) “I am not blind to Hastur’s many failings. It would take a miracle to even like him at all in the first place. But he helped me, and I _know _you are going to say he was under contract, but he _helped anyway_, Crowley.”

“He wants to destroy you, angel.”

“Poppycock ! I can feel love, Crowley, and as unrequited as it is, it is love nonetheless he feels about me. I have no idea as for the why or how, but he is quite besotted.”

Crowley growled frustratingly.

“That’s the SAME, Aziraphale ! Love and destruction are just the same to him ! He’s a bloody psychopath that will take pleasure in ripping your skin from your body ! He’ll like that ! He’s a freackin _demon_, for Manchester’s sake !”

Aziraphale looked at his friend very pointedly, and raised one eyebrow, conveying in that movement the absolute certainty he knew at least _one_ demon that wouldn’t like doing such a thing. Crowley stammered, like every time he was reminded he wasn’t exactly as merciless as he should.

“Tha… wh… t’s...Not the same ! I’m… not exactly the same. But I love destruction too, eh ? I destroyed _tons_ of things ! ‘M a destroyer, me !”

“of course you are, my dear” answered the angel soothingly. “You are quite horrible when you put your mind to it.”

Crowley calmed a little under the praise.

“Anyway, you have to be careful around him. Every time you thank him for a gift he looks like he’s going to drop on his knee and propose.”

“Oh, my dear” answered Aziraphale with a chuckle “It would take at least the original _Book of the Dead_ to answer yes to that.”

Crowley smiled. Had he seen the toad hidden under a shelf jump away and disappear through the floor, this smile wouldn’t have lasted long.

The toad crashed on Hell’s floor with a croak, and a very filthy hand grabbed it unceremoniously.

Hastur looked his familiar in the eyes. Then a large, horrible grin spread on his face.

“The original Book of the Dead” he growled in delight.

* * *

It was only the following day, as Aziraphale was upstairs making cocoa, that Crowley spotted Hastur outside the bookshop. The greater demon signalled him to come out. Crowley only hesitated a second before joining him on the pavement, carefully closing the door to the bookshop behind him.

“What do you want, Hastur ?” He asked in what he hoped was a really intimidating voice. Hastur didn’t seem to notice. He looked excited, and was grinning from ear to ear.

“A contract” Answered the Duke of Hell. You and me. For the angel.”

Crowley felt fear stirring up inside him. This was really _bad_. Bad idea. No more bloody contract, he’d made Aziraphale promised.

But he wasn’t Aziraphale, was he ? He was a demon, couldn’t lose his soul or anything like that. A contract between two demons was biding, but it didn’t threatened their lives. They just had no choice but to act to fulfil their end of the bargain if they lost. Easy pie.

And anyway, listening to the contract couldn’t hurt, eh ? didn’t commit in any way to _listen_ ! He shifted his weight from one feet to the other. He should _come back __in__ right this instant_, he knew it. But Crowley’s better judgement was apparently taking a vacation that day. He was good at temptation. The best, actually. He invented Original Sin. Temptation was HIS thing, after all, and he was currently using his skill against himself so deftly he had very few chances of resisting.

“Alright”, he finally said, squaring his shoulders. “What kind of contract ?”

Hastur’s smile widened.

“The book of the Dead, Crawly. The original one. First of us who find it and offer it to the angel wins.”

Crowley blinked. Bloody book of Bloody Dead ? Really ? Like it was even possible to find it ? It had probably been destroyed dozens of centuries ago. He’d listen to more than one of Aziraphale’s rant about _that one_. It was a powerful item, full of magic, and the angel was worried a human would use it unwisely.

He’d searched it already. A lot. He sighed inwardly. That was typical Hastur. The Duke of Hell hadn’t the slightest idea of how Earth was working, but he was certain he could find an object nobody had ever set eyes upon in more than a millennia. Ridiculous idea. He should _go back inside_ and drink his cocoa like any other day.

Instead of doing this, he ignored his mind’s frantic yelling and opened his mouth to ask the one question he really, really shouldn’t ask.

“What about the loser ?”

Hastur looked him in the eyes.

“The loser will stop seeing Aziraphale, or even talk to him ever again. He will renounce having anything to do with him.”

The Duke of Hell extended his hand. A demon’s contract with one of his kind didn’t need any blood bound.

_ABOART_ ! Yelled Crowley’s mind. “_GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE _!”

But… Hastur would stop coming back. Forever. He would not bother Aziraphale any more.

And it was a book they were talking about. Crowley was an expert in finding rare books, as he needed one almost every time he had to apologise to his friend. Hastur, on the other way, had found two of these objects in his entire life. A cookbook and a sport’s almanac. Crowley knew he wasn’t taking the slightest risk. He was way _smarter_ anyway. He couldn’t_ lose_. And the angel would be _safe_.

Not feeling as confident as he was certain he should, the ginger haired demon took the offered hand and pronounced the bounding words, insufflating his demonic magic into them.

“Loser stop seeing and talking to Aziraphale, or have anything to do with him. Forever.”

Hastur cackled and let go of his hand.

“Great. Really great. Gotta run, Crawly. I have a book to find and I know exactly where to search.”

Crowley watched the ominous corporation disappear underground, while a very scary thought invaded progressively his mind, playing in a loop.

If Aziraphale ever found out about this, he was _dead meat_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crowley's overconfidence is bad for him. He will learn this very soon.


	7. Fighting for a feeling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley realised his little bet is not that easy to win...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got carried away and wrote way more than I thought ! Our three main characters had a lot to say ! So I had to cut it and transform it into two chapters. Last one is almost done. Hope you'll like it !

That stupid Crawly had fallen into his trap !

Hastur got back to Hell, cackling madly. Thinking of his Nemesis's face, his smug smile as he shook his hand, _binding _himself with an oath he couldn’t escape, to a bet he had no way to win… it was priceless, and so, so gratifying !

Once again, he conjured Crawly’s face to memory, and burst out laughing hysterically, louder and louder.

_Oh, Crawly… if only you knew ! _

Soon very soon, that angel would be his alone.

He headed to Beelzebub throne’s room with a grin, crossing lower demons that all but jumped out of his way in fear and awe.

Crawly had been out of Hell for too long, and didn’t know what was going on there any more. Powers were constantly shifting here, as it always had. A lower demon could gain a rank or two in a very short time. And for a Duke of Hell to gain rank…

“Lord Hastur” greeted the Lord of the Flies with a nod. “Back already ?”

“Yes, I had something to ask you before I got back Up.”

“What do you want ? Your work in favour of the eradication of Hell’s leaks had been stellar. You deserve a reward, as I already told you. Name it, and it will be yours. As long as it is not my throne, of course” added Beelzebub without humour.

“I need a miracle. A hellish one, of course” added the Duke precipitously before his boss could get the wrong idea. “But a powerful one. I need to find an object that has been lost on earth for a very long time. It is deemed impossible to find.”

“I see. I have no idea what could be interesting enough for you on earth” (and Beelzebub’s voice while pronouncing that last word let no doubt about what they were thinking of earth exactly) “But your demand is granted. The miracle will be performed, and that object will be found by humans in less than a week, as long as it still exists.”

Hastur’s smile looked demented (which made him pretty handsome by Hell’s standards).

“Will I have a mean to locate it once it’s found ?”

“Of course. I will warn you as soon as the miracle worked.”

“Excellent. I will look forward to it.”

He headed to his quarters in Hell, chuckling to himself and his fingers grabbing onto air like there was something in front of him, something to claw at and to reap apart.

In his mind’s eyes, there was.

* * *

The first week had Crowley pretty confident. He was sure to win, after all.

But when the first answers from his contacts came back, his pride took a hard blow. Then it got worse.

Old books, like anything pricey, had an entire illegal market dedicated to their selling and acquiring (no question asked about their origin). Crowley knew that particular section of the underworld very well, and the grapevine had no secrets for him.

Problem was : each of his contacts knew someone was searching for that book. They’d been offered a LOT of money before he even got to talk to them.

Yes, they’d all told him they would call him first, and he knew they would. They knew him for long enough to know that trying to double-cross Antony J Crowley was Bad Luck. Having a reputation was an advantage Hastur had not. But the Duke still got there first.

* * *

Hastur was napping in one of Hell’s coldest, darkest corner, when a lesser demon came to his search.

“Lord Hastur, the Lord of the Flies is summoning you. Your miracle has had results. The object has been found in Libya !”

Hastur got up quickly, and discorporated the messenger, just to start the day with a little fun.

“Finally” he growled with glee.

He hastily got to Hell’s stairway, the coordinates clear in his head. Time to bring a gift to his angel…

Libya was way too hot to his taste, but he didn’t care much. The scavengers that had found the book were here, in this building…

he entered it. Silence stretched for long minutes.

Then a loud, scary howling erupted, having every human and animal in a mile around take shelter in terror.

The cry sounded kind of muffled, like someone yelling while biting at his own hand.

* * *

Crowley started worrying.

The realisation of what he’d got himself into hit him suddenly. He’d been so sure of winning he didn’t even take the time to ponder.

He had agreed to something impossible to realise. If he didn’t win this bloody bet, there was no way out. He would _HAVE_ to stay away from Aziraphale. And that wasn’t even the most awful part. The angel would get _mad_. He wouldn’t calmly wait in a corner and accept it like that. He would go _insane_. He would do something.

He’d tried to get rid of his nightmares about a discorporated, tortured Aziraphale. Well, he had. Now the rare occasions he got any sleep were full of vision of an avenging angel crashing through Hell’s doors. Not that it was his style. He would probably try to sneak in. But the outcome would be the same.

Crowley stopped sleeping. He hadn’t any time to lose anyway.

He got on several trips, most of them in Egypt and the nearby countries. He was out of the shop for hours, and on the eleventh day, he got out and didn’t come back for three days in a row, with an alarming certitude : Hellish miracles were at work. Hastur had been granted powers he shouldn’t have. And Crowley could not compete with _that_. He got back to England, trying to find another course of action. He couldn’t think of any.

He entered the bookshop with a defeated air, and immediately realised his current nightmare was getting worst by the minute.

Aziraphale was waiting for him with a look on his face that was a good cross between Very Stern and Very Concerned. Crowley froze in the entryway, taking in all of Aziraphale’s non verbal ways of telling “You are in so much trouble”.

Arms folded. Lips pursued. Foot tapping. And the Look. Oh, God. He had no way out. Aziraphale _Knew_ !

“Angel” he croaked, raising his hands as if to calm a wild creature “I can explain. Really, I can. And I’ll find it, don’t you worry.”

His friend frowned.

“Find what ? Did you lose something ?”

Crowley wasn’t sure if the question was genuine or if it was dark sarcasm. He took a few seconds to try and decipher that, but Aziraphale, for once, was a close book.

“You… don’t know ?” asked the demon tentatively.

The angel took a deep breath. “No, I don’t know what is going on. But I intend to. Right now. What is happening, Crowley ? You look...” and Crowley had the feeling that had his friend known the expression, his next words would have been ‘like shit’.

“You look hunted. Are you being hunted ? What is going on ? You are acting way too strange lately, and it is only getting worse.”

Crowley swallowed hard. He had no way out. None of his inquiries had done anything and he was despairing. The book had probably been destroyed aeons ago, but what if it wasn’t ? he had to tell Aziraphale.

“I… angel, I did… don’t you worry, OK ? But I kind of… made a deal ? With Hastur ?”

His friend’s eyes widened.

“You… what ?”

“made a deal. I made a deal. Contract. With Hastur.”

“Crowley, are you INSANE ? Why ? Why on earth did you…”

The angel brusquely shut up and grabbed him by the shoulders, scanning his face.

“Are you all right ? Did someone do something to you? What are you trying to undo ? Tell me, for God’s sake, I can help !”

Oh, shit. This was not heading in a good direction at all.

“Nothing, angel. Nothing’s happened. I just… I just made a deal. He offered, and I said yes. I… I’m kind of stupid.”

_Understatement of the century_, thought Crowley miserably.

Aziraphale tilted his head in confusion.

“I… don’t understand. Why ? No, I don’t care why, what did you offer, Crowley ? Please tell me it’s not your soul !”

And the angel looked so wretched that the demon answered hastily.

“No ! Not my soul ! Impossible for a demon anyway. Not that...”

His eyes shot to the side. He just couldn’t look the angel in the eyes.

“I… we both promise the looser will never have anything to do with you again.”

He heard Aziraphale gasp in surprise. Time to rip the band aid off completely.

“Never to talk to you or go near you ever again. That’s the bargain.”

The angel let go of his shoulders and took a few steps backwards.

“Oh” he said softly. And Crowley would have preferred he’d punched him in the gut.

Aziraphale was looking down at his hands with a strange, frightening expression.

“What is the bargain, then ? What did you ask in exchange ?” he finally asked.

Like there could be anything that the demon wanted enough to risk their connection to get it !

Well… he didn’t ask for anything. It may be even worse.

“Nothing. I asked… nothing. It’s a bet really. Loser has to go away. I really thought I’d win, I didn’t think I could… thought it was a good opportunity to get rid of him !”

Aziraphale pinched the bridge of his nose.

“How many times” he started in a (definitely) angry voice “have you told me humans should NEVER believe a demon offering what seemed like an easy bargain ?”

“T’s… t’s different… I’m a demon… I mean… yeah, of course but… he was...” Crowley backed down, but the door to the bookshop slammed violently in his back to prevent his escape. He was pretty sure Aziraphale had nothing to do with it.

“What” asked the angel in a very calm voice “was that bet about ?”

“First of us to find the original Book of the Dead and to offer it to you wins” answered Crowley hastily.

Aziraphale blinked. Then frowned slightly, before straightening suddenly, conjuring divine power from Upstairs. Crowley felt the hair on his arms stand on end under the rush of ethereal energy. Papers shuffled everywhere in the room while Aziraphale did something… strange, and vaguely familiar…

Crowley suddenly understood. That feeling was reminding him of Armageddon, when he was melting his demonic powers with the Bentley’s conscience to keep it going, running them both on imagination and will.

Aziraphale was injecting a part of his Grace into the bookshop. It couldn’t last very long. Why was he doing this ?

The angel breathed in slowly, and opened his eyes. They were shining with heavenly light.

“Alright. Hastur will not be able to come in from anywhere now. Follow me.”

Crowley didn’t dare ask where, or why. He followed, a little concerned, but a great deal more relieved. Aziraphale knew what he was doing, that was obvious.

They entered the back room and the angel got straight to the shelf hidden behind a tartan curtain, out of customer’s sight. He pushed the curtain, took a book on the shelf and handed it to Crowley.

“Here. You found it. Give me a pound.”

like in a dream, the demon snapped his fingers and made a coin appear in his hand, before placing it in Aziraphale’s outstretched palm.

“Good. Now offer it to me.”

Crowley complied, incapable of the slightest coherent thought. Aziraphale placed the book back in place and looked at him expectantly, the stern expression giving way to worry.

“Do you feel anything ? Did it work ?”

Crowley shuffled on his feet, reaching out…

He sensed the demonic oath inside of his chest, dissolving bit by bit into nothingness. It worked, it was working. Relief was so overwhelming he couldn’t utter a word.

“Crowley ! Talk to me ! Did it work at all ?”

“Yes. It… it’s gone. T’s over.”

“Perfect” said Aziraphale coldly, releasing his hold on the Bookshop and going back on the main room, lightly stroking the wall in passing.

Crowley stayed rooted in place, looking at the shelf, not knowing what to do. Aziraphale had it since the beginning ? How ? He always talked about his rarest findings to his friend. When had this happened ?

He perfectly knew he was asking himself these questions to avoid thinking about something else. The deep relief was still here, so strong he was fighting a huge lump in his throat. But the fear was rapidly rising too. The angel was mad. Had to be. He sheepishly came back to the bookshop to see Aziraphale disappearing upstairs.

Maybe he should get out for a while. Leave his friend some privacy, time to calm down. Yeah, good idea. He grabbed the main door’s handle. It didn’t move one bit. He tried again, and a book fell on his head from… well, from shelves way too far away for it to be natural.

“Okay. Got it, got it” he murmured, looking around with a placating gesture “not going anywhere.”


	8. Heartbreak over a Feeling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Each of our three boys is dealing with the bet's outcome...

Hastur got out of the building screaming at the top of his lungs.

“CRAWLY ! CRAWLYYYY ! You’re DEAD ! YOU’RE SO...”

A shiver ran along his spine, reminder of a promise. The voice of the Antichrist resounded in his head.

“_You will _**_NOT_**_ destroy him. You will __NOT__ threaten him. He is __MINE__, Duke Hastur. This demon belongs to __ME__, do you hear me ?” _

“Shit ! He won’t win ! I won’t _let him_ !”

The scavengers had said the book had been stolen less than one hour ago. How was it possible ? They’d found it only that very morning, and he’d got there so fast ! Crawly had cheated, that much was obvious.

Hastur, his screams transforming into undecipherable howls, pinpointed the red-haired traitor’s energy and dissolved into black smoke that shot towards England at literal light-speed. Crawly had not offered the book yet, he could feel it. He could still take it back, steal it without the other demon noticing…

Without even slowing down a little, he aimed for London and Aziraphale’s bookshop, ready to cut through walls like red hot iron through butter…

He ended on the pavement, just in front of the door, blinking owlishly. What had just happened ?

Something inside him tightened. Crowley was holding the book, the Oath was telling him that. He yelled and ran into the door, summoning all of his dark powers.

An invisible barrier prevented him from even touching the wooden panel.

This was impossible. It was angelic Grace, for sure, but not strong enough to repel HIM. He was a Duke of Hell ! Once again, he tried, to no avail. That wasn’t only Grace, there was something else, but he couldn’t say what exactly. Like the ethereal energy had a mind of its own… which was… not possible.

The tightening worsened. Crowley was giving the book. He was giving it ! In an outburst of violence and dark power, Hastur attacked, surrounding the building, ready to force his way through any little crack…

… but there were no cracks, and the barrier still resisted, opposing an unwavering will to his attempts. He could break it if given a little time, that was sure, but he would be too late. Way too late…

He felt the Oath fluttering and expending inside his chest. It was over. He’d lost. He could not stay there, he had to go.

Running as fast as he could, too devastated to think of taking the underground route, he aimed for the entrance of Heaven and Hell’s building. His angel was lost forever.

* * *

On the first floor, an angel looked at Hastur’s retreating back, a steaming mug in his hand.

“So close” he murmured, horrified. “Crowley, you stupid...”

He closed his eyes and breathed in. It had been such a close call. Why had Crowley made that crazy, silly bet ?

He knew why. His demon was scared, and scared Crowley sometimes took reckless decisions. But this one was way too foolish. Aziraphale felt so angry he couldn’t talk right now, for he knew he would say things he would later regret. Better to stay here and wait for the pressure to decrease.

A mirthless chuckle escaped his lips. He’d thought about it, not so long ago. When he’d made his own bargain with Hastur, and the Duke of Hell asked him to stop seeing Crowley. He had thought _“That is the kind of deal Crowley may accept. He may sacrifice our friendship to get me my __Grace__ back, __without taking the time to think and realise I’d rather stay powerless.__”_

Crowley was like that. He thought fast, and was able to take quick actions in a pinch. Aziraphale admired his agile mind, and relied on him on these occasions. But every quality had it’s failing, and recklessness was one of Crowley’s most dangerous traits.

Looking through the windows into nothingness, Aziraphale stayed lost in thoughts while the day turned to night, imagining another outcome, and another sunset, in a world without Crowley’s presence by his side.

Angels always forgive. It doesn’t mean they have to do it fast. And swiftness was _not_ Aziraphale’s dominant trait.

His anger didn’t seem to subside, and the more he thought about what could have happen, the more his horror rose, making him want to yell and cry at the same time.

_What the **Hell **were you thinking ?_

What if the many wardings he’d scattered over earth throughout the years hadn’t worked ? What if he hadn’t got to Libya first ?

Thank God he’d been on the lookout for the Book of the Dead for centuries. He had no idea of how important his action was when he’d put his hands on it. He almost didn’t make the trip, actually, so strong was his worry about Crowley’s strange behaviour. But the Book of the Dead was dangerous for humans, so he’d just popped up there, took it and came back.

_Thank God_.

Stupid Crowley. And stupid Hastur, too. To think they could discover a unique, powerful, priceless book before _him_.

When the first rays of sun reached him, he shook his head slowly, feeling exhausted. He had to open the bookshop, and buy some croissants for breakfast.

He knew Crowley was still there. He would not let him get into hiding like their others arguments, and he counted on his bookshop to pass on the message. First, he wouldn’t let him get away with this that easily.

Second, he didn’t want his friend to torture himself alone and recluse. This was exactly the kind of thing he’d do.

He looked into the back room before opening the shop. Crowley was sleeping on the couch, so mingled in his blankets it was difficult to tell where the demon ended and where the tartan started. Crowley had had a rough night, obviously.

Aziraphale stared at his friend’s drawn out features and sighed before heading out.

Crowley woke up with a start and struggled in the grip of his enemy… before realising said enemy was only Aziraphale’s tartan blanket. He thrashed this way and that, cursing under his breath, before finally succeeding in sitting on the edge of the couch and burying his face in his hands with a groan, trying to wake up quickly.

Aziraphale, he sensed it, was upstairs. That was telling.

The angel always found a way to be there, on the back room, when Crowley opened his eyes. Ready to press a cup of coffee or cappuccino in his hand with a fond “Good morning, my dear”.

Well, he’d expected to be given either the thunder or cold shoulder treatment, and it seemed he was in for the worse of the two. He wondered for a moment how to make it up to his friend, but the only thing he could think of was _“offer an old and rare book”_ and it so not seemed the right idea at the moment.

Cake ! He could get out and bring back cake ! But the bookshop wouldn’t let him out. How in Heaven was he supposed to make things better ?

He pulled at his hair for a minute before realising a comforting smell was coming to him. Blinking a little, he looked around.

There was a mug on the coffee table. His usual morning mug. He stretched his hand and took it.

Cappuccino with a cinnamon stick, perfect temperature. His favourite, reserved for very cold days. The cinnamon stick was for special occasions, when his friend felt like a little cheering up was needed.

Shit.

The angel must have put it here just before he’d opened his eyes. That kind of thing was typical Aziraphale.

Not being there to great him : _I am still very mad at you._

Cappuccino : _It doesn’t change a thing __between us__._

Cinnamon stick… well, cinnamon stick didn’t need commenting. It was Aziraphale’s bastard side. He knew that would make him feel even worse. And even if he was perfectly aware of that, it worked.

He heard the angel descending the stairs and hastily took a sip. Of course it was excellent. His friend strolled through the shop, heading for his desk, and Crowley raised timidly to join him, holding his cup in both his hands like a shield.

“Hello angel...”

No answer. Expected.

“hmm… ha...nh… how’s your morning so far ?”

Aziraphale didn’t even seem to hear.

Crowley played for a few seconds with the idea of thanking him for the cappuccino, but abandoned. Yes, Aziraphale would answer, he was incapable of not responding a thanks with at least a “you’re welcome”, or a smile.

But if the angel didn't want to talk to him, forcing him to do it was bad (not to mention dangerous).

The bell jingled, and for the first time in weeks, Crowley didn’t fear it may be Hastur. He finished his drink in one long gulp and rushed to the entry. At least he could still start to redeem himself by scaring customers away.

At his desk, Aziraphale pulled a purple binder out of a drawer before sitting down, lips pinched. Crowley slided a look in his direction while talking to the client, and his face paled suddenly. Oh no.

The Taxes Binder.

The one thing Aziraphale always forced himself to do religiously, and the only reason he had a computer.

Most of the people don’t like doing their taxes. Aziraphale_ hated_ it. Crowley had learned (the hard way) to get out of his way for a few days at the sight of that damn binder.

Crowley made short work of getting rid of the client by taking his glasses off and _looking_ at him. Then he braced himself like a young farmer boy only just knighted hours ago and about to enter a dragon’s den.

“Angel… why don’t you let me do that, eh ? It would be a pleasure, really...”

Aziraphale handed him his pen without sparing him a glance and got up, straightening his jacket’s handcuffs before heading to the back room, head held high.

Crowley looked at the binder. Aziraphale kept every little bill in it, even that of a coffee or a cake. He summed everything once a year. Taxes accountants all over the city had learned to _fear_ that binder.

Well… He would do it ! He would conquer those bastardly numbers !

The demon opened the ominous item, shivering at the sight it unveiled. So many papers…

He turned to turn the antique computer on… only to discover its absence. He got up silently, and looked for Aziraphale. The angel was playing minesweeping in the back room. Naturally.

Crowley got back to the desk, conjured a notebook, and got to work.

In the back-room, Aziraphale broke into a blood-curdling smile.

That should be enough. For a start.

He had a whole list of other tasks the demon could accomplish to regain his goodwill.

* * *

Hastur was wandering around like a lost soul. He couldn’t come close to the bookshop, and was visiting every other place he’d ever met him. His feet led him to the park. The place of his wonderful discorporation.

Such a precious memory. All that he’d got now were memories. He stared gloomily at the alley, reminiscing every little detail, every delicious stab of the knife.

“You ! Yes, you, in the horrible coat ! Get out of my park ! You have no right to be here !”

Hastur whirled on himself, disclosing sharp, frightening teeth…

And blinked in surprise, facing an Archangel.

“Begone, foul fiend !” ordered Gabriel haughtily.

Hastur looked at him. A powerless Archangel. He’d heard rumours, of course… but he never believed it !

Gabriel looked much more interesting now than last time he’d saw him (four hundreds years ago, in Heaven and Hell’s entrance lobby).

For a start, he wasn’t too… _neat_.

Secondly, he was defenceless.

“And what will you do, sunshine ? Smite me ?”

Gabriel rose from his full height, snarling in contempt.

“I will if I have to ! Fear the wrath of...”

Hastur discorporated him with an amused smile, chuckling softly at the cry of pain and outrage the Archangel let out as his essence left his corporation and rushed back Up.

That was fun.

He’d definitely come back later. Maybe another angel will help him forget Aziraphale.

Whistling a happy little tune, he headed back to Hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end ! I had such a great time writing that one. Thank you all for reading Hastur's story and for your lovely comments !


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